Clouded Jelly

The jar of jelly, pushed to the back

of the fridge shelf, beyond the sour milk.

I pulled it out, a heavy, cold thing.

It was supposed to be ruby, clear,

catching the light, but time had done its work.

Now it was cloudy, a dull, pinkish gray.

You could see the spoon mark inside,

a hazy ghost of someone's hunger.

An outline, a suggestion, but no hard lines.

Like trying to remember the exact curve

of a moment, the way it really felt.

You know it's there, the shape of it,

but the specifics, the sharp color,

dissolved into a blur.